I'm All You've Got
by iCrackABottle
Summary: Post Reichenbach Fall. Jim and Sherlock both survived. But Jim doesn't know Sherlock's still alive, so he keeps searching. Sherlock obviously knows Jim is alive, but is too afraid to confront him. Jimlock/Sheriarty.
1. Chapter 1

He wakes up with a jolt. Sitting up immediately and reaching for his handgun before realizing it was another dream. Another nightmare. Haunting him.

He lets himself fall back on the cheap hotel bed and looks at the clock. Six AM. Too damn early. He looks around the half-dark room. No Sebastian. Nobody. Just James Moriarty and his fucked up mind.

It's been exactly two years since the Fall now. Since he killed Sherlock Holmes. He still _hates _himself for killing his one, true love. But of course, no one knew he had an affair with the famous Consulting Detective. Just them.

But he had to keep the mask on. The notorious Consulting Criminal, with no weaknesses, with no heart, with no conscience.

Only one man managed to break the mask, the wall. Whatever you want to call it.

Jim takes a deep breath and gets up from the bed, taking a hot shower, to 'wash' the dream away. It happened. It still haunts him.

He woke up every morning, in a cold and _empty_ bed, with only the dream as a memory.

He packs his stuff and leaves the hotel. He couldn't use his own card, he had a fake identity. Jim doesn't want to get caught, obviously. He could never blackmail the judge again. He is _weak_.

Once Jim is outside the hotel, he lights a cigarette, taking a long and shaky drag, slowly blowing the smoke out to calm himself down. He's been searching for Sherlock the past two years. He still hopes Sherlock wasn't _really_ dead. That Sherlock also, somehow, faked his own death. Just like Jim did. He hoped that Sherlock got all the hints. But apparently Sherlock is now dead.

"NO!" He suddenly yells out, quickly covering his mouth and starting to walk. The voices in his head saying Sherlock is dead. That he will never return.

Jim refuses to believe that. He still looks for clues. He even called John Watson, asking with a fake accent if Sherlock Holmes would be home. But he wasn't.

The walk to the graveyard takes about half an hour, stopping on the way to buy flowers. He still went every week, on the same day, but always a different time, to see Sherlock's grave.

He arrives, slowly making his way to the grave. Tears already stinging in his eyes. He sits down in front of the grave and places the flowers down.

He hugs his legs to his chest, staring at the name 'Sherlock Holmes'.

"Hi… How are you?" He always asked the same question. It's not like Sherlock would stand up from his grave. But he has hope.

"I- I am bad… I m-miss you, Sherlock." He wipes his escaped tears away.

"One miracle… P-Please, come back. For me. For _us_."

Jim swallows, now staying silent as he just stares. Staring at the grave of his enemy. His friend. His lover. Tears streaming down his cheeks.

'Man up, Moriarty. Sherlock wouldn't want you to cry.' Jim thinks. But he can't stop himself. He always feels so weak whenever he visits.

A few hours pass. Jim kept whispering things to the grave. He stands up, placing his hand on the stone, then takes his bag and walks away. Not looking back. Not noticing the man behind the tree.

Just like last year, he visits St Bart's. People walking on the pavement where Sherlock died. Like it was just a pavement. But it wasn't _just_ a pavement for Jim. He stares at the, now clean, pavement before he walks into St Bart's.

He made sure to avoid anyone who would recognize him and runs up the stairs to the roof, dropping his bag and panting once he reached the top.

He slowly walks around on the rooftop, remembering every word of that day. He takes a deep breath and walks to the same edge his beloved Sherlock once stood. Ready to fall.

'Sherlock is dead. Why don't you just jump. How romantic.'

"Shut up."

He looks over the edge. It's so high. He knew Sherlock must've been scared. He is scared. Scared that Sherlock is really dead.

"No, stop it. He can't be dead, he promised-" Is all Jim could say before falling on his knees, covering his face and crying again.


	2. Chapter 2

The weeks pass by slowly for Jim. He went to the graveyard every Sunday, sometimes around ten AM, but sometimes around two PM. He never looked back when he walked back. If he just did that, he would see the man behind the tree. The man wearing a black, long coat. A man with curls. A man named Sherlock Holmes, who _never_ died.

Sherlock always collects the flowers Jim leaves, to put them in a vase in his own, secret, flat. He missed Jim, but he couldn't face him. He just couldn't. Not yet, at least.

He remembered the days he spent with Jim. Just the Sundays, where they could be together. Where they could be _normal_. Where they didn't have to pretend they hated each other. Every Sunday was different, sometimes they just stayed at their secret house, sometimes they went away a whole day, to another city. But there were also things that never changed. The looks they gave each other, the hand holding, the sweet, soft kisses. Or the rough ones.

Sherlock thinks back about these days every day. He wishes he could just hold Jim again. He wants to talk to Jim. Kiss him. Make love to him. Everything else he had to miss for the past two years. He's just not ready yet.

The weeks pass by. So does the months. And soon, it's Christmas. Christmas was hard. For both Jim and Sherlock. They spent the cold days together, but not for the past two years.

Sherlock sits alone on the sofa, staring in the fireplace. Pretending that Jim is with him. He talks to the Skull on the mantle.

Jim simply lays in bed. Ignoring the phone calls he got from Sebastian. Only Sebastian knew he was alive, but he wanted to be alone. With Sherlock.

Christmas flies by. New Year's flies by. And soon, it's almost the third year Jim has to live without Sherlock. Jim made a promise to himself. If he didn't find Sherlock in three years, he would throw himself off St Bart's. To be with Sherlock. He already arranged a grave near Sherlock's, not that anyone would visit his grave.

The third year after the Fall. Jim can't be fixed anymore. He's broken, weak. He still works sometimes, but it doesn't satisfy him anymore. He has to play with the _ordinary_ people.

The ritual.

Grave. Pavement. St Bart's. Then he will be reunited with _his_ Sherlock again. He can't wait.

He wakes up early. Nightmares. He showers, packs his bag, then leaves the hotel. He walks to the graveyard, taking his time to pick flowers. Then he approaches Sherlock's grave. Sitting down, placing the flowers down.

"Hi… How are you?" He looks at the name. Sherlock Holmes. God, he always feels so weak whenever he visits.

"It's already three years, Sherlock… Since the Fall. Since you died. But don't worry, we will be together soon…"

Jim swallows, talking for a while before standing up, turning around and leaving. Sherlock stood, again, behind the tree. He lets himself slide down against the trunk into a sitting position. "Jim…" He whispers to himself. But Jim is already gone, ready to do _ordinary _people are scared of.

Jim walks to St Bart's, he actually feels.. _Good_. Since years. He will be with Sherlock again. He looks at the pavement before heading up to the roof. Walking around before dropping his bag. People leave notes, don't they? Sherlock left John a note. He could just at least write Sebastian a note. But he already knows what's going on with Jim.

Jim carefully steps on the edge. The exact same spot where Sherlock stood those years ago. He swallows as he looks down. The pavement. Oh how fucking romantic. He shuffles, his toes now over the very edge.

"JIM!" Sherlock yells, he silently followed Jim and watched him. Now standing on the other side of the roof. Jim simply shakes his head, it's his imagination. Sherlock is dead. This is not _real_.

Sherlock looks at Jim for seconds before running over and yanking him off the edge, causing them to both fall down.

"No, fuck off, I want to die! I want to be with Sherlock!" Jim glares and struggles, but Sherlock is much stronger and easily pins him down on the rooftop.

"Jim, it's me, Sherlock. I'm not dead… I'm here…"

Jim just shakes his head. "Prove it!"

Sherlock frowns. "James…" Jim shakes his head. Sherlock groans. "Jimmy Holmes…"

Jim's eyes widens, only Sherlock knew of this 'nickname'.

"S-Sherlock?!"


	3. Chapter 3

Jim invited Sherlock to one of his many secret, safe houses. He wanted to trust Sherlock with this. He wanted Sherlock to know where he could find Jim if he needed anything.

Jim just sat on the sofa, nervous as hell. He finally had the guts to tell Sherlock he loved him and now Sherlock even wants to meet him.

So, Jim waits. And waits. It's almost ten am, where the hell is Sherlock?!

But at exactly ten, there were three knocks on the door, just like Jim told Sherlock to do.

Jim stood up and rushed downstairs to open the door, he immediately pulled Sherlock inside and Jim almost smiled wide. Sherlock just chuckled and closed the door. "Sorry, I had a case."

Jim shook his head and took him upstairs to the living room, the tea already cold. "I will make some t-" But Sherlock shut Jim up, he pressed his lips against Jim's, in a soft kiss.

And so they had shared the first kiss, Sherlock wasn't sure if Jim wanted it or not, he just kissed.

The Sunday passed by quickly, too quickly in Jim's opinion. They chatted. Kissed. Held hands. Just like couples do in the beginning of a.. Relationship? It wasn't really a relationship. Yet.

And so they met, every Sunday at ten am. The one Sunday, they just stayed at home. Just to talk, to share some kisses. Sometimes even more, but it didn't lead to sex just yet.

Other Sundays they went out to the park, they made sure no one could see them or recognize them. They held hands as they walked around, they laughed and chatted.

Jim felt like the happiest man on earth, but so did Sherlock.

They were made for each other.

It went on like this for months, but the one week meetings was not enough for the couple, they met in the evening whenever they could.

Of course, they fought. So alike and yet so different. But they always made up, they needed each other.

Then on a Tuesday evening, they were spending time together at Baker Street, Sherlock took Jim's hand and whispered the words Jim never expected to hear from that man.

"I love you, James." Sherlock whispered with his deep voice, causing Jim to smile like an idiot.

"You only just figured that out, Sherly?" Jim teased and pecked Sherlock's lips.

"Is breá liom tú, Sherlock. I love you in Irish…"

Sherlock flashed a smile and took Jim in his arms, carrying Jim to his bedroom where they laid down on the bed.

"I'm ready, Jim."

And so they made love, for the first time. And the last time.

_Back to the hospital roof._

"S-Sherlock…"Jim lets out a sob and hugs the man he loves so much, he missed so much. Hiding his face in the other's chest. Sherlock holds him close and whispers. "Jimmy, don't cry, please…" Sherlock swallows, blinking his own tears away.

"Let's go home.. I'll explain everything there, okay?"

Jim simply nods, pulling away from Sherlock and wiping his tears. Walking down the stairs of the building and heading to his car. Sherlock quickly getting in, he couldn't allow that wreck to drive them home. And so they went home. Home, Baker Street. John was married and didn't live there anymore.

They talked for hours, until deep in the night. Crawling in bed together, holding onto each other. Jim finally slept well. Waking up late in the afternoon, Sherlock walks in with some coffee and smiles.

"Morning, Jimmy."

"Morning, Sherly."

They both grin and drink coffee together. Jim finishes his coffee soon, heaving a heavy sigh, murmuring. "I missed you, asshole."

"I missed you too, leprechaun." Sherlock grinned. "But I've been watching you. I was standing behind the bloody tree, not able to talk to you. We'll be okay. Promise."

Sherlock hugs Jim tightly and kisses his forehead.

They didn't leave Baker Street for weeks, just being together was all they needed…


End file.
